


Something Old, Something New

by Apollyon_Apparition



Category: Original Work
Genre: Flash Fiction, I find it easier to write, Love, Paranormal, Poetry, Sacrifice, Short, Short Story, Surreal, The majority of this is going to be poetry, Unrequited Love, but come back in a year and that will probably change, poem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-03 21:49:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17885825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apollyon_Apparition/pseuds/Apollyon_Apparition
Summary: "It's called making a fool of yourself not because you're making yourself look stupid but because fool is another word for jester and you're doing things that are funny for others entertainment."- My best friend, Rachael---A collection of poems and short stories. It will mostly just be poetry. As work is created it'll be updated plus the order will be changed and finalised.This is also created on my Wattpad account - XMSpye





	1. Content

**Table of Content**

  1. What I See 
  2. Contrite Courter 
  3. Red and Grey 
  4. Play Date 
  5. Flowers for my Love 
  6. Can You Imagine? 
  7.  Eden's Guardian
  8. £20 Disaster  



[More will be added as this story gets updated]


	2. What I See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my best friend Rachael, a.k.a Strawberry

_The future fit for a damned,_  
_Damned man such as myself;_  
_Trapped in the cynical void._  
_A ripe strawberry rolls into my plague_  
_A purpose for Devine irony,_  
_Squinting to see my friend in the harsh light._

_Hark, an Angel,_  
_Not made of monster, but man;_  
_The aphotic light receding._  
_Only a yellow glow shines_  
_Like a halo._  
_May the arch-fiend's fashion_

_Sustain and rescues you,_  
_In the ironic fashion;_  
_As you have done me._  
_Carrying your god-like heart_  
_Into the home of Elysium._  
_In old age I shall cherish you as I still do now._


	3. Contrite Courter

_Defiant eyes_   
_On their path to ruin_   
_Instant in their adulation deprived succession,_   
_And I hate the image manifested._

_Can it go away?_   
_The feeling that burns in my chest,_   
_Up my throat and head,_   
_And down my stomach and knees?_

_Languid butterflies to bees,_   
_Languid butterflies to bees,_   
_Youthful in devours awakening the emotionally dead,_   
_Languid butterflies to bees._

_I can see you, but can you see me?_   
_Keen to find the forgotten answer;_   
_Ever so, as my kaleidoscope guts_   
_Yield at married thought,_

_Only, can one's genuine kindness_   
_Unblock my mature facade_   
_\- ?_   
_Only when I think about the forbidden emotions;_

_Rather than a thin knife, life including_   
_Death and love as ambiguous, for_   
_Only the heartless gaze_   
_I cannot muse. I find the_

_Juxtaposition of a heartless persona perfect at_   
_Upholding compassionate realism;_   
_Skeptical in developing consciousness_   
_That all feelings are let go,_

_Likewise in a straight jacket if chemicals take control._   
_I won't let it._   
_Killing divination but continuously seeing_   
_Elevations of love cleft to the bone._

_Tentatively blurring the vision of the one bearing the feelings_   
_Hating still the image,_   
_Except when conversing with_   
_The one._

_Hexing my eyes to stop their greedy_   
_Onlooking but the other's spell is_   
_Unrestrictedly omniscient by power._   
_Green-eyed are we._

_However, is it I?_   
_To seek the gaze_   
_Of a dull crush acted_   
_From a young will?_

_Yet can it be that my_   
_Odious reflections of love are just_   
_Upheld in genuine fanciful illusions_   
_\- ?_


	4. Red and Grey

_Stomach never showing,_   
_Though the beeping persists._   
_When the machine's red glowing,_   
_Stays stoic, resonating into my mind's abyss._

_The thoughts of tonight's survival_   
_Clear in my brain._   
_Still, there's no use in the idle_   
_Messages that pay no heed to rain._

_I already know that_   
_I'm going to die young._   
_My strangled,_   
_Asphyxiate cadaver._

_Yet I don't know_   
_Whether to make peace with it_   
_Or live in fear_   
_Of what I might miss._

_My soulless hush a misery in daylight,_   
_But threatened at night._   
_Snores through fragile walls persist;_   
_As the electric presence in the hallway insist._

_In. Out._   
_In. Out._   
_In. Out;_   
_Stop - wait-_

_I can't breath, I can't breath,_   
_Oh God, let this watch work,_   
_I can't breath,_   
_I can't breath - Quick somebody_

_Pinch me, punch me, slap me_   
_Shovel mints down my raw neck_   
_To see if the sugar can stimulate stamina_   
_Or if the energy is dumbly imagined;_

_A bruise on my jaw,_   
_My cheek,_   
_Pale skin and black eyes_   
_A broken throat_

_My eyes closing_   
_Or were they already closed?_   
_The colours are limited;_   
_I shake death's lovely hand._

_We've met before -_   
_When I was young_   
_And in many other accidents since -_   
_With age they look tired._

_Nevertheless_ _it's the same as always,_   
_They hand me a note and an anemone,_   
_Telling me that it's not yet my time,_   
_But my spirit grows more begrime._

_I can breath again._   
_I can breath again._   
_It's hard. It's painful._   
_But I can breath again._

_Oh, how I'm so grateful_   
_Yet I still think about the now wilted flower,_   
_Knowing the painful thoughts awake in my brain's cradle,_   
_But sometimes I still live for those April showers._


	5. Play Date

The gurgle of intoxicating grace surrounded my body as I kneeled in the middle of wet fire. I couldn't see what was going on but I could hear - hear - hear the sound of shuffling. Choral chants rose into a sinister murmur. The guillotine is freshly sharpened, but won't be used. She doesn't like it. She says it's, "quite messy," for her taste.  Personally, I like it but was given no choice.

My number was picked.

We planned this endeavour as we imagined it happening before. Sitting in a circle with a pillow as a table and diet coke in our mugs to look like black coffee, imitating what we believed our parents done. Michael even put milk in his to make it seem more authentic. It didn't work. He ended up praying to another god that night. The only way we gave away our childish manners was with the crayons we used instead of pens, all chewed up and worn.

Shall that happen to me too?

I was chosen. Mallory was close though. She could have been picked. Abruptly, I feel myself begin to rise out of the fire and into the impending darkness, but I feel no sorrow. They are helping me ascend into greatness, but should I let this happen? Suddenly, a fluorescent light flickers on and off. On and off. On and off. On. A foreign body barges into the room, scolding us for our impious escapades. I fell to the ground. I was already on the ground. Did I even float at all? Oh well, I guess our play date is over then.

We know what to do next time.


	6. Flowers for my Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my Grandparents' on their 50th wedding anniversary.

_Roses are red_  
_Violets are blue_  
_All of these years flew by_  
_Where did they get to?_

_The times have change_  
_From black and white_  
_To colour_  
_But you have always helped me to rearrange_  
_The world to see a rainbow despite_  
_The monochrome visions others seemed to bring on tour._

_Rogue rose petals shoot though the wind like a trout through water_  
_Unknown of their destination_  
_But contented in the journey_  
_The gust isn't just a helping hand but a starter_  
_Knowing that two will never become one_  
_For our 'I' will always translate into 'We'._

_Of all the flowers within this garden of grandeur_  
_May love make them grow strong_  
_And even through all the harsh weather the buds have to endure_  
_The green as emerald stems will always help them to carry on._

_Roses are red_  
_Violets are blue_  
_All of these years flew by_  
_And I'm happy I spent them_

_With you._


	7. Can You Imagine?

Can you imagine how it feels to wake up in the morning, a dull, dreary, monday morning, but not know who you are? The ever-changing world stays the same yet you're as different as a dot. You look outside only to be met with luscious, jade green, and brown trees with its branches like pom-poms, dancing and cheering in the wistful wind. The sky is as blue as the clear sea on a beautiful summer's day. You see people outside, there are children happily skipping along the path but there are teenagers who are tiredly strolling behind them who are also wondering how someone could have so much energy. You hear the revs from a car engine and breathy sighs from those who don't want to go to work. You know who they are, yet you're unsure who you are.

Can you imagine how confusing it must be whenever people call you? They call you. They call you, and call you, and call you 'that' name. You respond. You have to. You know that name's yours, it was chosen, but it doesn't have to be. It's not your name. It's not, it's not, it's not. But you still respond. You still respond so they don't find out. They call you that name. That name hits you like a bullet flying from a cold, jeering gun and it goes straight to your heart. The coldness gets you. It's numbingly painful as it travels around your body like a white dove elegantly gliding through the sky. The same clear, sea blue sky you saw earlier. It's not your name, but you still respond. You still respond so they don't find out. So they don't know. They already know. 

Can you imagine how it feels to be trapped? Trapped in a place. Trapped in a body. The same body which holds that name. You picture yourself in a different body and an image pops up but it is torn, frayed and ripped up, almost as if the picture was a discarded first draft. You picture yourself in that body day, after day, after day. You try to ponder what voice will come with it. Maybe the voice will be as smooth as silk, enchanting those who dares to listen to your alluring melody. Or maybe the voice will be as sweet as caramel, making everyone fall mesmerized and want to eat it up as if they were a child, the same child that was happily skipping along the path. Or maybe, just maybe, the voice will be perfect. Nothing else, just perfect. You want that body and voice. You need that body and voice. You can't have that body and voice. You can't have them because you're trapped. You are trapped.

Can you imagine being thought of as nothing, or being used like an object? Most have no regard for you and you're called what they prefer just because of who you are. You are a living, breathing, wonderful person yet they make you feel like an unwanted, dirty, lifeless doll that holds so many memories of fear and sorrow and happiness. They see you like this. They don't think of you as one. They think of another type of sweet doll, as their sick thoughts soon come into play during the darkened morning till the brightened night. It makes you want to throw up. So you do; nothing but white cotton and fluff comes out. The white cotton is tinted with different shades of scarlet red to grassy green, all while also holding the orange and yellow of the sun. The colours make you want to throw up.

Can you imagine being free? Free from hateful spite, and spiteful hate. Free from it all. Free like a bird. Can you imagine what it's like to be a bird? The bird we imagine is various shades of blue, like sky to sea. It's almost blank in colour at the heart as it cascades into a soft, beautiful pastel pink. The bird charms you as you stare at it. It flies like a graceful ballerina, dancing elegantly against the calm wind. You've seen this bird before. It is free. It is free but even this mesmerizing creature can't escape nature's unmerciful grasp. It is free, but for a price. You watch the bird as it flies. You want to fly but to no avail, you can't. For you are just a mere human being, and they can't fly. We can't fly. You can't fly. You can't be free. Birds can be free. Can you imagine what it's like to be free?

Can you imagine?


	8. Eden's Guardian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my friend Hanna, may she stay strong.

_A vanilla touch is all,_   
_To the soul,_   
_As flowers from floret flourish._   
_Singing in life will heed the call_   
_And never shall this garden grow old._   
  
_Forever the breath of celestials_   
_Will follow,_   
_Like destiny following a deer._   
_Candor in thought will go_   
_Through the forest hollow,_   
_Into a dock that only certain_   
_Dauntless shall go near._

_And thus, a smile was formed._   
  
_Then with love in fantasy -_   
_A crystallized catalyst of emotion, it taunts -_   
_It hangs on a golden chain of none;_   
_But the heart wants what it wants,_   
_And what is meant to be,_   
_When all is said and done._   
  
_From words fall a cascade of quantum raindrops,_   
_Evanescent from above._   
_It follows the soul wherever it hops,_   
_An everlasting ocean delineates a dove._

_Truculent in actions;_   
_Harmless in demeanor;_   
_Arrogance traps the fowl in factions._   
_Novice to appease - but to lore,_   
_Knowing it will not work any more._   
  
_Yet the sea swallows up the mind,_   
_Only to set the bird free to find,_   
_Utopia unlike a rope - unbind._   
  
_Hands held in the forge of feeling,_   
_Amorphous anamnesis were born._   
_Nokotas wondrously galloping in glee beside her,_   
_Never new to know the vestige they were dealing,_

_And thus, a smile was formed._   
  
_Yielding; like a thought of God forced_   
_Out by a pressuring voice._   
_Unpropitious was Apollyon, coarse_   
_Repudiation was not something to rejoice._   
_Embracing the land will cover it in an_   
_Aura as strong as a cotton cage or can._   
  
_Guardians are fractious to come by,_   
_Rife with mischief and lies._   
_Eloquently one will be secluded in surprise;_   
_Aurora lights up when the right one has been found,_   
_Taciturn they may be but beautiful by bound._   
  
_Forever in confidence, and as the land heals,_   
_Red roses will grow and prosper in the fields._   
_Imagination turns into words as_   
_Eden will sing once more with time coming to pass._   
_New atonement will pass the world by;_   
_Daydreams now fade into a beautiful night sky..._

_And thus, a smile was formed._


	9. £20 Disaster

_An experiment._

_Relished in twisted matches;_

_Entropy’s slides— Manually creating us._

_Naturally, God is still figuring me out,_

 

_Though it’s taking a long enough time._

_Who is this?_

_Exactly, are you the one I’m talking to?_

_A result?_

 

_Laughter resonating through the screen,_

_Lame limbs being stuck on with glue;_

_Judicious are my actions instead of theirs;_

_Unmoved by a pail of water._

 

_Skin sizzling for the_

_Trickery seized by_

_Mortals foolish who play funny tricks_

_On God._

 

_Nose turned into a manta ray_

_Swimming through their selection,_

_Teasing fate with life,_

_Extracted from their ugly destinies._

 

_Rather, what do you wish to see?_

_Spectral bones hidden just_

_In plain sight—_

_Nimble flesh?_

 

_The final, all sweetness wreaking_

_Havoc on neighbouring minds;_

_Examples of exemption let loose._

_Fresh, haunted air._

 

_A scream._

_Called with the click of crude terraform —_

_This is killing with impunity,_

_Only if you know what to create._

 

_Rid me of your blasphemy,_

_Your Messianic secret,_

_Omnipotente, I portray in truth_

_For the demons shall believe me and shutter, as the_

 

_Griffin lies in waiting eyes._

_On the contrary,_

_Do you believe we’re real_

_ \- ?  _


	10. Neurotic Mirror

_Frugal are the ministry’s actions_

_On the foreseeable future._

_Rising up, our voices combine._

_Growing, down their silent solidarity._

 

_Ivy growing up our throats,_

_Visars hell man-made; they split open our_

_Ears, our eyes, our hearts,_

_Yet shall that deter us?_

 

_Oh, how the world was promised to us but_

_Unstable I see; the war overdue._

_Reality seeing the damage_

_Erupted; but we will fix this._

 

_No more shall we sit in silence_

_Ever so as vines acts as hangman’s tools_

_Manage to make us thick and dull,_

_Yet shall that deter us? The_

 

_Behemoth beasts won’t be benumbed,_

_Unless we tell them the truth._

_The future is young._

_Relishing, we look to our past._

 

_Ecstasy spirals through their body, as_

_Mad as the old medicines._

_Efficiency is not what we need, or_

_May we lose this fight._

 

_Bastardised blades_

_Eagerly slice their hands. The_

_Red liquid feeding the youth’s sedition._

_The future is ours._

 

_How about a different plan of attack?_

_Eject the elder’s grim attempts,_

_Burn what we have presently wrote,_

_And let the new rule save our_

 

_Souls have risen up._

_The future is now._

_And we are_

_Ready to fight. Our_

 

_Destiny being taken from us, yet._

_Society collapsing from their own_

_Nuance; then gluttony calls._

_Anarchy reigns in our eyes. My_

 

_Martial and Mercy. Their_

_Enemy and Ego._


End file.
